January 19th, 2009

Now I’m flying,
my journey to the moon,
cut short by my rose bushes.


They can’t let me go, their tendrils
stretching,
reaching,
pulling me to the ground.

They’re hugging me,
kissing me, thorns leaving the
scarlet blush of their lips.
It’s comforting, their love.
The only ones to whisper gently in my ear,

to caress and forgive.